


Forty

by Occula



Category: U2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occula/pseuds/Occula
Summary: How a song was written.





	Forty

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ July 25, 2003. Lo these many years ago, Shannon said, I wish someone would write a story about Forty and why they switch instruments. Shannon's wish was my command. To you, dear friend, I dedicate this.

Contrary to reputation, I wasn’t late _all_ the time. I was usually on time. Once in a while, I was even early.

This was one of those times.

I felt strangely restless. Instead of picking up my bass, I went over to the drums, but I hesitated to touch them. I suck on drums anyway, and you can’t play drums _quietly_.

I thought about listening to some of the tapes, but I didn’t want to mess up anyone’s filing system. That usually ends in shouting.

Hungry? No. Thirsty? Got a beer right here.

Where the hell is everyone?

Tentatively, I approached Edge’s area. I stood at his boom mike and looked down at his pedal board, but I didn’t take the lid off it. So this is what the room looks like from his space. It was a bit like when you’ve just rearranged your furniture.

I wonder what it’s like, to see through those eyes.

What the hell. He won’t mind. I went off to the side and took his black strat out of its case and put it on. He had a pick stuck in the strings and I used that. I’m not much of a guitarist – well, who is, compared to our resident genius – but various people had shown me a few things over the years, and I did practice from time to time.

The low E’s a bit flat. … That’s better.

After a couple of minutes, I switched on his amp and plugged in. Ah. That’s better, too. If it’s not loud enough, it’s just not –

Just not _sexy._

You _would_ think that.

You would think that with his strap around you.

Jesus Christ, shut up, you freak. I don’t need this. Just play some guitar.

Compared to bass, it’s such a nice, trim, compact instrument. It’s kind of light and lithe and athletic. Not as blunt. More subtle and more complex. Clever and thoughtful and …

You are still thinking about the guitar, aren’t you?

Oh. Uh, yeah.

 

\----------

 

I paused with my hand on the door and listened for a minute. Then I went in. It was him.

He looked startled and jangled to a stop. He’d been in his own little world, a condition I respected.

“Sorry, I just —”

“No, no, keep on,” I said. “What is that?”

He shrugged. “It’s something I was thinking about – it just kind of came out.”

I went over and turned his amp on. “Don’t stop,” I said. He hesitated. “No, don’t be embarrassed. It’s good.”

A bit clumsily at first, because he was self-conscious, he picked it up again. I put on his bass and watched his hands for a minute, conscious of the unfamiliar weight. You have to be strong to wear a bass all night. I put my hand on the neck. Big heavy strings, big frets, big neck. It would be easy to mistake this as an instrument of brute utility, but that’s far from the case.

If I hadn’t known that already, I would have learned it from him.

We work with the roots of what he’s begun, taking it here, letting it take us there, turning it back again. The two of us are in the same place, of one mind, although, frankly, I’m just following him.

We find a sequence that works, we form a structure that works. We’re both smiling, but we don’t stop to talk. I just wish I could look at him more. I’m facing him, careful not to knock his headstock against the mic stand, but I can’t really take my eyes off my left hand. I can almost see his aura in my peripheral vision, though. He’s grinning and glowing and in his novice’s hands my guitar is doing good things. It makes me want to jump up and down. All of it. Creating something, and creating it together. Watching him at work, intent and happy.

Just watching him.

By the time the others show up, we’ve written a song, as simply as that. If only everything were so simple. We’ll play this song many times, in many places, but this time, this first time, will always be my favorite. Just the two of us in this room together, with a bright current of creativity flowing between us. Joining us.


End file.
